Seed of Deception, Part 2
by Deana
Summary: If Bart and Bret thought the situation with Jim Mundy was over, they were wrong, and Bart is in no shape to handle it. (Continuation of the episode, 'Seed of Deception', season 1, episode 27.)
1. Ow

Seed of Deception Part 2  
A Maverick story by Deana

My continuation of the Maverick episode 'Seed of Deception'.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bart shifted slightly in his chair, trying not to wince. The gunshot wound low in his right shoulder was throbbing, the pain radiating in all directions. It was difficult not be able to move it much, considering that it was his dominant hand, but at least he usually used his left hand to hold cards...which is what he was foolishly doing at the moment.

Bret shot concerned looks at his brother, knowing that he was in pain. He would never forget the moment when he'd been told that Bart '...might not make it'. He knew that the bloodstain on Bart's shirt had looked like the wound was in his chest, so he understood how it had initially seemed, but it was still a terrifying thing to have been told. "You all right?" he asked.

Bart smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine," he answered. He was too pale.

Bret didn't believe him. If the bullet had hit him an inch lower, it would've ended up in his lung. "We don't have to play...when I proposed it, you'd looked better than you do right now."

Bart smiled again. He'd _felt_ better at the time when Bret had playfully _demanded_ it, to try to win back the money that he'd generously given Bart as his share of the reward for capturing Jim Mundy and his gang. He was feeling lightheaded now, but answered, "It's all right, we might as well finish."

Bret frowned. Was Bart winning?

Bart tried to keep his poker face, and wondered how he was doing at it. He was tired, but he also had three aces and two kings. He shifted his cards into his right hand for a second so he could pick up the rest of his money and toss it into the pile. "I call," he said, unexpectedly.

Bret's eyebrows shot up. He matched the bet and laid down his cards: three jacks and two queens.

Bart smiled...and this time, it reached his eyes, pain or not. He reached over—not able to hide a wince this time—and raked in the money with his left hand.

Bret was speechless. He'd playfully tried to take advantage of his brother while he wasn't at his best, and wasn't going to actually keep Bart's money if he won, but he hadn't stopped to think of what would happen if Bart was the winner.

Bart started counting the money one-handed where it lay on the table, and when he got to the amount where Bret had originally split it, he took that half and tried to reach forward as far as he could to hand it to Bret. "Here," he said, his voice sounding a little rough when he moved too much.

Surprised, Bret quickly reached out and took it.

"You thought I'd keep it?" Bart asked, carefully leaning back in the chair. "After you were nice enough to give me half when I didn't even earn it?"

"I wasn't going to keep yours if I won, either," Bret said, sticking his money into his wallet. His expression turned somber. "And you _did_ earn it," he said, gesturing to Bart's wounded shoulder.

Bart nodded. "I guess you have a point there." He yawned.

Bret took out his watch; it was just after five in the evening. "Hungry?" he asked, figuring Bart wouldn't be able to stay awake for a later supper.

Bart hesitated, blinking tiredly. "Not really."

Bret stood and reached for his brother's good arm to help him up. "I'll order room service," he said, as if Bart's answer had been 'yes'.

Bart said nothing, letting Bret pull him out of the chair. The lightheadedness increased and he stumbled a step.

Bret tightened the grip on him. "You all right?" he asked again, frowning.

Bart blinked a few times. "Stood up too fast," he said.

Bret had tried to go slow, but obviously wasn't slow _enough_. "Sorry." He carefully led his brother over to his bed and sat him there, gently removing Bart's jacket and helping him lie down.

Bart closed his eyes with a wince and let out a deep breath, accidentally letting his pain show for a moment.

Bret squeezed his brother's good shoulder. "I'll be right back," he said.

Bart nodded, and as he watched him leave the room, he realized that Bret didn't ask him what he wanted. Apparently he was going to have to eat whatever big brother decided was good for him. He closed his eyes with a sigh and groaned, now that Bret wasn't around to hear it. His wound was hurting worse than Bret knew.

When Bret came back, he found that Bart had dozed off. He frowned at that, not wanting to have to wake him up when their food arrived. He sat in the chair beside Bart's bed and just watched his brother sleep, wishing that he'd never gone along with the town believing that he was Doc Holliday and Bart was Wyatt Earp. They should've simply told them the facts and went on their way. If they had, then Jim Mundy wouldn't have spared them a glance and Bart would not have been shot.

"Got nothing better to do?"

Bret blinked and saw that Bart's eyes were half-open. "Oh," he said. "Did I wake you up?" He had no idea how much time had passed while he'd sat there thinking.

Bart shook his head. "No, _this_ did," he said, gesturing to his throbbing shoulder.

Bret sighed. "Wish there was something I could do," he said, guiltily.

Bart heard the strange tone in his brother's voice, and opened his eyes all the way, but before he could really look at him or say anything, there was a knock at the door and Bret stood to let their supper into the room. He watched his brother take the cart and wheel it over. "What's on the menu?" he asked.

"Just what you need," Bret said, masking his guilt and sounding like his usual self again. He carefully helped Bart sit up and placed a tray on his lap, taking off the cover and revealing a big bowl of beef and potatoes.

It smelled delicious, but it wasn't what Bart really felt like eating.

"No complaints," said Bret. "This is what your body _needs_."

Bart would've rather had soup.

"I know you'd rather have soup," Bret said, as if reading his mind. "But answer me this, brother dear…do you really want to try raising liquid on a spoon with your left hand?"

Bart looked up from staring at the bowl. "That's true."

Bret nodded and took a mug off the cart. "It'd be easier for you to _drink_ the broth."

Bart smiled, taking the mug. "Yes sir, big brother." He figured he'd better just go along with him, since Bret obviously felt guilty that he'd been shot.

Bret smiled back. Bart hadn't called him that in a long time.

They ate mostly in silence, Bret watching as Bart attempted to eat with his left hand. He got the hang of it after turning the fork upside down and stabbing his food. Bart didn't manage to eat it all, but he ate enough to satisfy his brother, considering. After Bret pushed the cart into the hall laden with their dishes, he came back to see Bart dozing again. "If you're gonna be down for the count, we should get you out of those clothes and change your bandage," he said.

Bart didn't want to move, and sighed.

"Come on," said Bret, sitting in the chair again and lightly squeezing his brother's good arm. "You'll be more comfortable that way."

At that, Bart opened his eyes and tried to move. Bret helped him sit on the side of the bed and got his shirt off. He sighed at the sight of the bandage, and almost didn't want to take it off and see the wound on his brother that he could've prevented.

Bart knew his thoughts, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, Bret reached forward and removed the bandage. He didn't let himself outwardly react at the sight of the ugly, stitched wound, and he set about placing a clean folded cloth over it and wrapping a roll of bandage around Bart's body to hold it there.

"This isn't your fault," Bart suddenly said.

"Yes it is," Bret quickly replied. "If I had insisted that we weren't Earp and Holliday—if I hadn't been foolish enough to call you 'Wyatt'!—then Mundy would never have even noticed us and this whole thing would not have happened."

Bart sighed. He understood his brother's reasoning, but still. "You had no way of knowing that I would get shot. Even _I_ had no way of knowing, or I would've _kept_ trying to walk away from his henchman before he shot me!" The pain suddenly flared and he sucked in a breath.

Bret winced right along with him. "Sorry," he said, trying to be more gentle.

Bart let the breath out. "I'm fine."

Bret sighed.

The pain flared again and Bart closed his eyes, unable to say anything else until Bret finished with the bandage. After the ordeal was over, he reopened his eyes and looked at his brother. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated.

Bret held his gaze, reading the sincerity in his brother's eyes. Finally, he nodded and looked away.

Bart wasn't sure if his words were enough to completely convince his brother, but he could see that Bret was considering it, so that would have to do for now…especially since he couldn't stay awake any longer to keep talking to him anyway.

Bret saw how fast Bart was fading and quickly got his brother into nightclothes. He helped him lie down and pulled the covers up, adding an extra blanket; the night was chilly. "Sleep well," he said.

Bart nodded, eyes closed. "You too," he mumbled.

Bret sighed, doubting that he would.

TBC


	2. Bad News

Bart slept through the rest of the evening, but his sleep was restless because of the pain and he woke up a few times. Bret stayed in the room, not wanting to leave in case his brother needed him. Bart never asked for anything other than water, and Bret had the hotel send up a fresh pitcher before he finally decided to go to bed himself. His bed wasn't far from Bart's and he pushed it even closer, so he would hear his brother if he needed him. He knew that hearing Bart wouldn't be a problem anyway, because even though he went to bed, he didn't go to sleep.

Bret clasped his hands under his head and sighed as he ran the events over in his mind. How he wished that things could've gone differently! He didn't know how long he laid there before a soft noise got his attention and he sat up, looking towards his brother.

Bart had pushed his covers down to his waist in his sleep, and suddenly moved his head, making another noise.

Bret stood and quickly headed over, sitting on the side of his brother's bed. "Bart?" he said.

Bart was asleep and showed no reaction to Bret's voice. He was breathing fast and still making little distressed noises.

Bret noticed that his brother was sweating, and he placed a hand on Bart's forehead, finding it warm. He quickly grabbed a towel off the nightstand and wet it before gently wiping his brother's face and placing it on his forehead. His heart started pounding with worry; had Bart's wound become infected? It hadn't looked that way when he'd changed the bandage earlier...

Bret grabbed the collar of Bart's shirt and stuck his hand inside, gently laying it on the bandage over the wound. He didn't feel heat radiating from it, just the same warmth that encompassed the rest of Bart's body. He stood and pulled the covers further down off his brother before crossing to the window and opening it, letting in a cool breeze. Once that was accomplished, he went back and sat on his brother's bed.

Bart moved his head again, his eyebrows drawn into a frown. He was still breathing fast, but the noises had lessened.

Bret took the cloth off his brother's forehead and rewet it, not giving it a chance to lose its coolness.

Bart suddenly shifted and gave a little moan.

Bret put a hand on his good shoulder. "Take it easy, Bart," he said, hoping that he could hear him. Bret wondered if a bad dream was causing this, and considered trying to wake him, but didn't want Bart to lie awake in pain. He was definitely better off asleep.

Bret removed the towel again and felt his brother's forehead. It wasn't as warm as before, and Bret was surprised and relieved. The room was nice and cool thanks to the open window, and Bret wondered if Bart didn't have a fever after all; maybe he'd been simply too hot. Bret had covered his sleeping brother with an extra blanket before he'd gone to bed, and from the looks of it, it may have been one blanket too many. _Great_ , he thought. _Something else that's my fault_.

As Bret rewet the cloth and replaced it on his brother's forehead, he was glad to see that Bart's breathing had slowed down. If a bad dream had been the reason for Bart's distress, then hopefully it had gone and been replaced by something more pleasant.

With a sigh, Bret moved to the chair beside the bed. He didn't feel like sleeping now.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Bart woke the next morning, he tried to move without thinking, and sudden pain erupted in his right shoulder. He gave a gasp of pain, and a hand suddenly gripped his left shoulder to hold him still.

"I wouldn't move that fast if I were you," Bret said.

Bart's eyes were squeezed shut tight, until the pain lessened a little. He opened them and looked up at his brother. "Morning already?" he mumbled.

Bret sighed back. " _Late_ morning. You had an eventful night."

Bart didn't know what he meant by that. "I did?" he asked, trying not to groan.

Bret nodded, before grabbing the pitcher of water and pouring some into a glass, pulling his brother upright a little so he could drink it.

Bart drank the water gratefully, finding himself to be terribly thirsty. When Bret laid him back down, he carefully reached for his right arm and held onto it. "I did?" he repeated, prompting his brother to explain.

"You were restless, kept waking up," Bret said. "Do you remember that?"

Bart nodded. "I think so."

"Around midnight or one, you grew upset," Bret said. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Bart frowned and thought for a few seconds. "Not that I can recall. What do you mean by 'upset'?"

"You were moving around and making noises," Bret said. "Were you awake at all?"

Bart frowned, thinking.

"You were sweating and I thought you had a fever," Bret went on to say. "I took the blankets off you and opened the window, and between that and a wet towel on your forehead, you quickly cooled off. I think it was the blankets. Too many."

Bart shook his head. He had vague memories of some kind of struggle…whether physical or mental, he had no idea. Maybe he _did_ have a nightmare. "I can't remember."

Bret nodded. He felt Bart's forehead, found no trace of fever, and sighed with relief.

Bart watched his brother's face. "Are you blaming yourself for too many blankets now?"

Bret looked at him and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

Bart closed his eyes for a second before reopening them. "Stop it, will you? I told you that it wasn't your fault, and I'm not going to change my mind. Just be glad that I'm alive and will recover, all right?"

Bret said nothing.

"All right?" Bart repeated.

What could Bret say? "All right."

"Besides," said Bart. "If you hadn't given in and let them think that we were Doc and Wyatt, we would've missed out on that delicious dinner, and you would've forever regretted it."

Bret smiled slightly.

"That's better," said Bart. He tried to shift his position, but changed his mind; the last thing he wanted to do was wince and let his brother see it and start feeling bad again.

Talk of food made Bret realize what time it was. "I guess I should feed you," he joked.

Bart wasn't very hungry, but he said, "That would be nice."

Bret quickly headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

Bart nodded, sighing with relief once the door closed behind him. He let out a groan and inched himself upright until he was sitting up high enough to eat, after which he slumped there breathing heavily, eyes closed. Thirsty again, he reopened his eyes to see the water pitcher and glass on the nightstand to his left, out of reach. He sighed again and waited for his brother.

It didn't take too long for Bret to come back, and he headed over to the bed, deposited a tray on Bart's lap, and removed the cover.

Bart blinked with surprise at the pile of flapjacks. "How am I supposed to eat all this?"

"With a fork, brother Bart," smiled Bret, handing one out. "With a fork."

Bart took it, inwardly sighing at how awkward it was to eat with the wrong hand. "You know I won't be able to finish it," he said.

Bret knew that Bart's appetite had never been as vigorous as his own. "Try," he said, seriously, as he poured his brother a glass of water. "You need to regain your strength."

Bart knew that he was right. He didn't dislike flapjacks; on the contrary, he enjoyed them very much…especially with a lot of maple syrup, which wasn't available in many towns that they came across.

Bret took a small creamer off the cart and brought it over, pouring the syrup over the flapjacks. "Say 'when'."

Bart couldn't help but smile. He didn't have to say anything; Bret knew exactly how he liked them.

Bret put the creamer on the nightstand—knowing that Bart would probably want more before he was finished—and grabbed his own plate, which was piled high. "How's your shoulder?" he asked as he sat down in the chair beside the bed.

Bart couldn't lie; he knew that his brother could see right through him. "It hurts."

"How much?"

Bart sighed. "A lot."

Bret sighed too. "Wish there was more I could do."

Bart shook his head. "You're doing fine. Thanks."

Bret nodded, though he didn't quite agree. He quickly ate his food and gathered the things that he would need to change Bart's bandage again.

Bart lingered over his flapjacks, wanting to delay it for as long as possible. He tried to eat it all, but just as he'd predicted, he couldn't.

"Can't fit the rest?" Bret asked.

Bart shook his head. "I tried."

Bret nodded and took the plate, putting it back onto the tray before coming back and sitting on the side of the bed.

"Can't this wait until later?" Bart asked.

Bret frowned. "You know the bandage needs to be changed morning and night. It's noon." He sighed, hating to see his brother in pain. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

Bart sighed too, but submitted, trying not to wince or groan.

The wound looked 'fine'; the stitches were holding well and there was no sign of infection. Bret felt his brother's forehead anyway just to be sure, and found his temperature to be normal. He changed the bandage as carefully as he could and helped Bart lie down again.

Worn out from the pain, Bart tried to go back to sleep afterwards, and Bret decided to run a quick errand. "I'll be right back," Bret told him. "I ran out of cigars last night."

Bart nodded sleepily and closed his eyes.

Bret watched him for a minute before turning and leaving the room. He pulled the cart out into the hall and left it for the bellboy, before leaving the hotel and heading for the tobacconist. He bought his cigars and quickly returned, to find the hotel clerk looking nervous.

"Mr. Maverick!" he said. "Did you hear what happened?"

Bret frowned. "No, what?"

"Jim Mundy just escaped from jail!"

Bret blinked. "What? He escaped?"

The clerk nodded.

Bret realized with shock that he and Bart needed to leave town _right now_ …but his brother was in no shape for travel. Bret quickly ran back up the hotel steps and headed for their room, wishing that he had anything _but_ this to tell Bart...

TBC


	3. Quick Exit

Bart was fast asleep when Bret entered the room, and he wished that his brother was awake; the last thing he wanted to do was disturb him when he needed the rest so badly...for Mundy to escape prison now was the worst timing possible.

To give Bart a few minutes more to rest, Bret quickly packed their saddlebags first before going over to his brother's bed and sitting on it. "Bart?" he said, gently squeezing his good arm.

Bart didn't answer.

Bret sighed and tried again. "Bart?"

This time, his brother's eyebrows furrowed and he moved his head slightly. "Hmm?" he mumbled.

"We have to go," Bret said.

"Huh?" Bart mumbled, wincing.

Bret sighed, wishing his brother would wake up faster. "Mundy escaped, Bart. I gotta get you out of town pronto."

Bart opened his eyes. "What?" he said.

"Up and at 'em," Bret said, sliding an arm under his brother and sitting him up.

Bart moaned from the abrupt change in altitude and his head lolled forward.

Bret winced himself; he hadn't meant to make Bart dizzy. He tightened his grip on him and halted: rushing wasn't going to do them any good if his brother passed out. "I'm sorry, Bart...I'm trying to get you out of here before Mundy finds us." _If he hasn't already_ , Bret thought.

Bart's eyes were closed and he was breathing fast. He knew that Bret was right that they had to hurry, so he opened his eyes and slowly raised his head. "Clothes?" he said.

"Coming right up," said Bret, letting go of him slowly to make sure Bart wouldn't collapse back down to the bed.

Bart remained sitting up, looking tired and pale, and Bret quickly grabbed his brother's trail clothes, getting his red shirt on him as gently as he could.

Bart was in obvious pain, but made no complaint. He simply sat there and let his brother manhandle him, knowing that he'd only get in the way if he tried to do anything for himself...not that there was much that he could do with only one arm anyway.

Finally, Bart was dressed, and Bret carefully adjusted the shoulder on his brother's buckskin jacket so it wouldn't cause him additional pain. He looped the sling around his brother's neck and gently settled his right arm in it, before carefully pulling Bart upright and waiting in case he got dizzy again.

Bart did, but didn't say anything. He simply took a step when the worst of it wore off.

Bret grabbed their saddlebags and threw them over one shoulder, keeping a strong grip around his brother as they started for the door. As they left the room and headed for the stairs, Bret realized that he'd been so concerned with getting Bart out of the hotel that he hadn't thought of the horses in the livery stable. He should've headed over there first and they'd be saddled and ready by now.

Bret stopped his brother at the steps and sat him down at the top. "Stay here," he said, gently leaning him against the wall and placing a gun in his left hand.

"Okay," Bart said, not questioning him.

Bret studied him for a moment. He could see the strain in his brother's face, of how hard he was trying to hide his pain. "Not gonna pass out, are you?"

Bart smiled slightly. "Not yet."

Bret returned the smile, not letting his brother see his worry. "Make sure, or you'll roll down the stairs. I'll only be gone for a minute."

"Okay," Bart repeated.

Bret put the saddlebags beside his brother and headed down most of the stairs, peeking around the wall but not spotting the clerk. He sighed and looked back up the stairs at his brother, who gave him a little wave. Bret held up one finger before looking around to make sure that Mundy wasn't in sight before going back down the stairs and heading for the front desk. Just as he reached it, the clerk came around the corner and they nearly bumped into each other. Bret grabbed him and ran around the desk, pulling him down to crouch on the floor so no one could see them. "You gotta do me a favor," he whispered.

"Sure, Mr. Maverick," the clerk said, surprised.

"Go to the livery stable and have them saddle my horse and my brother's...I gotta get Bart outta town before Mundy finds us."

The clerk nodded.

"Have the horses brought to the kitchen door," Bret told him.

"Will do," said the clerk.

Bret smiled. "Thanks." He watched the clerk leave, and after peeking around the counter, dashed out and ran back up the steps, finding Bart as he'd left him, eyes thankfully open. "We gotta get to the kitchen; our horses will be out back." He pulled his brother up and turned him around, heading for the back staircase instead that lead to the kitchen.

They went down the stairs and waited a few minutes before going in. They ignored everyone as they headed for the back door, and Bret peeked out, not seeing the horses yet. Bret sat Bart on a crate and kept the door open slightly so he could see when the horses arrived, and a few minutes later, they did, with the hotel clerk leading them.

"Thanks," Bret said, coming out and throwing the saddlebags over the horses first, before going back inside for Bart.

The clerk nodded, watching as Bret helped his brother out the door and practically propelled him onto his horse. "You two be careful, now."

"We will," Bret said, mounting his own and looking at his brother to make sure he was all right. "Thanks again."

Bart wasn't sitting up very straight, but he had hold of his horse's reins in his left hand and steered it to follow Bret.

Bret waited until his brother was beside him, and he turned his horse north, staying behind the buildings. "You all right?" he said.

Bart was still breathing fast in response to the pain, which was increasing with every movement. He simply nodded.

Bret sighed. His brother was anything _but_ 'all right', and he knew that this unexpected trip was going to make him worse.

Getting out of town wasn't hard, and they quietly rode, staying behind the shops. Bret was very aware of Bart's heavy breathing, and he wished that their enemy hadn't succeeded in his escape attempt. He was glad at least that it wasn't the middle of summer, or he knew that Bart would never make it far.

They rode for a while in silence, with Bret constantly looking behind them. Eventually, they passed the last building at the edge of town and were out in the open, and Bret knew that Mundy would have no trouble spotting them if he looked in their direction. "I really hate to ask you this," he said to Bart. "But how fast can you go?"

They both knew the answer to that, but pain was a lot better than death. "Lead on," Bart bravely said.

Bret nodded and kicked his horse into a gallop. Bart did too, and nearly fell off his horse from the resulting pain. Somehow, he managed to stay on it and keep pace beside his brother as they rode.

Bret tried to keep the pace slow for a gallop, knowing the pain of a gunshot wound. A glance at his brother showed him that Bart had paled at least five shades, and he knew that he would not be able to do this for long. It looked like there was a crop of trees a mile or two up ahead, and once they passed them, Bret knew that they could stop without Mundy being able to see them.

Bart saw the trees too and forced himself to focus on them, instead of letting himself pass out, which was what he really _wanted_ to do. The two miles seemed to take forever to travel, and suddenly, the trees were behind them. How Bart had managed to stay on the horse was beyond him, and he suddenly felt his brother take hold of his good arm. He opened his eyes, not realizing that he'd closed them.

"Are you all right?" Bret asked.

Bart's right shoulder was throbbing mercilessly and the pain was shooting down his arm and sideways into his chest. He tried not to groan and gave his brother a weak grin instead, but it looked more like a grimace. "Oh, sure," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Just...dandy."

Bret sighed. He could see sweat glistening on his brother's face despite the fact that it wasn't very hot. Bart was holding the reins in a death grip with his left hand, and since he was unable to move his right arm, Bret took a handkerchief out of his pocket and reached over, wiping the sweat from his brother's face.

Bart closed his eyes, and heaved a sigh when Bret finished. "Thanks," he said, gratefully, trying to keep himself upright.

Bret nodded and put the handkerchief back into his pocket, glancing through the trees to make sure Mundy wasn't headed in their direction. "Can you go on?" he asked.

Bart sighed again and reopened his eyes. Under normal circumstances, the answer would be no. "Slowly," he said.

Bret nodded again. "Tell me when you need to stop." Not _if_ , but _when_.

Bart nodded too. "One way or another, you'll know."

Bret knew what that meant; either Bart would say something, or he'd fall off his horse. "Well…it better be one way and _not_ another." The last thing Bart needed was to hurt himself worse.

Bret sighed. This was _not_ going to be a good day.

TBC


	4. Not Fast Enough

Bret kicked his horse into a walk, watching to make sure his brother did the same.

"Where are we going?" Bart asked.

Bret sighed. "I dunno…we can't stop at the next town; that might be the first place Mundy would look."

"Yeah," Bart agreed. He suddenly winced and tried to shift his position a little.

"Let me do the worryin', Bart," Bret said. "You just concentrate on staying on your horse."

Bart sighed again, raggedly. It was all he could do to actually talk, the pain was so bad. "Good idea," he said, trying not to groan.

They rode mostly in silence for the next couple of hours, Bret not wanting to sap away at any meager strength that Bart might have by making him talk. It became harder and harder for Bart to hide the pain that he was in, and he kept closing his eyes for longer amounts of time.

Bret kept his eye on him, and when Bart's eyes stayed closed and he suddenly swayed, Bret reached out and grabbed his good arm, stopping both horses. "Bart," he said.

Bart's eyes half-opened and he mumbled, "Huh?"

"We're stopping," Bret told him.

Bart's eyes closed again. "Can't," he mumbled.

"Why not?" Bret asked, tightening the grip on his brother's arm.

"Not going…fast enough," Bart said, before taking a deep breath. "He'll catch up."

That was probably true. Bret sighed. "But you're weaker, Bart. You need a break."

Bart gave no answer.

Bret knew that it would probably be impossible to get Bart back onto the horse if he got down now, so he took out his canteen and opened it, holding it under Bart's nose. "Here."

Bart reopened his eyes and reached out for it with his left hand. He was obviously dizzy, because he swayed again after letting go of the reins, but Bret still had a tight grip on his left arm, which kept him upright on the horse.

Bret kept hold of the canteen as his brother drank, and let him have his fill.

Once Bart was satisfied, he closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment, before reopening them and looking at Bret, the water having slightly revived him.

Bret inwardly sighed. It was obvious how much pain his brother was in, and guilt stabbed at him again. "You look terrible," he said.

One corner of Bart's mouth lifted in a half-grin as he reached for his wounded arm and held onto it. "Thanks."

Bret looked out ahead of them and saw mountains in the distance. He decided to stop once they reach them. "See those mountains?" he asked.

Bart blinked a few times. "Yeah."

"If you can make it there, we'll stop when we reach them. No argument."

Bart nodded slightly. "All right."

With that, they started out again, slowly making their way north.

Ten minutes later, an ominous sound met their ears; thunder. Bret looked to the west, and spotted dark clouds. A storm was the _last_ thing they needed! The mountains weren't too far off now, but Bret had a feeling that the storm would arrive before they reached them, and if the frequency of the thunder meant anything, it was a serious storm.

Bret looked at his brother and saw that he'd noticed it too.

"We're in big trouble," Bart said to him.

Bret nodded. "That's an understatement." He studied his brother, able to clearly see the magnitude of his pain. "How are you holding up?"

Bart sighed. He was barely able to stop himself from groaning anymore. The pain was a never-ending throb spreading down his arm, into his chest, and even up through his neck, giving him a headache. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was still dizzy. He realized that he wasn't sitting up straight on his horse, but was hunched forward, and he abruptly noticed that his left hand was hurting by how hard he was gripping the horse's reins.

"Bart?"

Bart looked up to see his brother watching him worriedly, and he realized that he'd forgotten to answer him. "I'll make it," he managed to say.

Bret doubted that. He looked at the mountains before looking back at the clouds as thunder rolled again. "If you don't want to get wet, we have to hurry."

"We can't outrun it," Bart tiredly said. Even in his current state, he knew that.

Bret knew it too. The sky was darkening and lightning flashed, with the resulting thunder loudly rumbling a few seconds later. A gust of wind suddenly blew, spurring Bret into action. "Let's go."

They kicked their horses into a faster walk; Bret knew that galloping would be Bart's downfall.

The dark clouds overtook them quickly and it started to rain sooner than they expected, quickly drenching them both. Though getting wet certainly wasn't going to harm either of them, Bart certainly didn't need it.

The wind picked up, blowing stronger than either of them expected. Lightning flashed and thunder loudly rolled over their heads. The lightning left the sky a few times in an earsplitting crack, and suddenly, hail began to fall, taking them both by surprise. At first, they were simply tiny pellets, but they soon grew to the size of quarters.

Bart gave a cry of pain when the bigger ones struck him, causing more pain to his shoulder.

Bret grabbed Bart's reins so his brother could keep his left hand free, which he placed over the wound to protect it. "Don't you dare fall off that horse, Bart!" he exclaimed.

Bart said nothing, eyes closed as he endured the pain.

Bret grabbed his brother's left arm, keeping the reins of both horses in his other hand. When they finally reached the mountains, he quickly looked for a ledge that they could hide under. Once he spotted one, he quickly dismounted and pulled his brother down from his horse, sitting him under the ledge and pulling the horse's heads under.

Bart slumped against the rock, eyes closed tightly as he gripped his shoulder.

Bret sat beside him and grabbed his good arm. "Bart?"

"Owww," was all that Bart could say.

Bret sighed and looked out at the storm as it continued to rage. Eventually, he saw something in the distance that shocked him. "Bart, look!"

Bart managed to open his eyes, and blinked, in shock himself.

A twister was making its way through the terrain. It wasn't very large and thankfully wasn't moving towards them, but it was there all the same, and it was a fascinating but frightening sight.

"Am I…seeing things?" Bart weakly asked.

"If you are, then I am too," Bret answered.

They watched the twister slowly move south, and they realized with alarm that it was headed for the town. They didn't have to worry for long, for the storm was moving fast and the twister suddenly seemed to be thinning out, before it quickly fell apart before their eyes.

Bart couldn't ignore his pain anymore and groaned, lowering his head.

Bret tried to pull Bart's hand away from the wound. "Let me see."

Bart let go and winced as Bret removed the sling and peeled his soaked jacket off him. The pain was pulsing as if there was a heart beating inside his shoulder, and he had to bite his lip to avoid groaning again.

"Don't hold it in, Bart," Bret said, sympathetically. "I know it hurts."

"Understatement," Bart said, with a gasp.

Bret got his brother's shirt off next and removed the wet bandage. The stitches were holding, to his relief, but the wound was red-rimmed and inflamed. Bret desperately hoped that it was the result of the hailstones, and not the beginning of an infection. He stood and grabbed their saddlebags, taking out the bandages that he'd brought and rewrapping Bart's shoulder before putting a dry shirt on him.

Bart's eyes stayed closed; he was not only in a lot of pain, but he was exhausted. His face was very pale.

Bret watched him with a sigh. Bart was obviously not going anywhere for a while.

Bret looked out from under the ledge. It was still raining very lightly, and he knew that if Mundy was following them, he would spot them easily where they were. "I'll be right back, Bart," he said.

Eyes still closed, Bart merely nodded.

Bret stood and walked out from under the ledge, finding that less than twenty feet away was a corner that had an outcropping that would conceal them better. He quickly ran back to his brother and knelt beside him. "Bart," he said. "I found a better place to hide."

Bart half-opened his eyes. "Where?" he croaked.

"Not twenty feet away," Bret said. "Where Mundy won't be able to spot us."

Bart sighed and shifted away from the rock at his back.

Bret reached out to grab him and pulled him upright, holding his brother tightly when he groaned and swayed dizzily. "I guess it would be a stupid question to ask if you can walk," Bret said.

Bart understood why. It would be less painful than mounting his horse only to dismount it again a few minutes later. "I can," he said, optimistically.

Bret pulled his brother's good arm around his shoulders and wrapped his other arm around Bart's back. "All right, here we go," he said.

Bart started walking, wincing at the pain. It seemed ridiculous how a wound to the shoulder could indirectly affect the legs, by making him too shaky and weak to walk on his own.

Bret was patient, but he tried to get Bart to the new spot as quickly as he could. He was as relieved as his brother when they finally made it, and he lowered Bart down to sit under the ledge.

Bart groaned again, holding onto his bad arm.

Bret quickly went to get the horses and brought them back to Bart. On his way back, it started to rain again, and he quickly ran back under the ledge and sat next to his brother, hoping one thing: that if Mundy was following them, the rain would delay him, too. 

TBC


	5. The Confrontation

Bart quickly drifted off into a half-conscious state. The pain was preventing him from sleeping, but he was so tired that his brain couldn't keep him fully awake. Bret had done what he could to make his brother more comfortable—if that was even possible in his condition—but there was nothing beyond that he could do.

The sun was setting after the rain had once again stopped. Bret was starving, but all they had in their saddlebags was beef jerky. That would do in a pinch, but it was nothing like the huge steak that Bret was used to having for supper. He had a feeling that it would do just fine for Bart, whose appetite never measured up to his own and was probably not even hungry because of the pain.

Bart suddenly groaned and moved his head.

Bret reached over to where his brother lay on his bedroll and touched his good arm. "Take it easy, Bart," he said, softly. Part of him hoped that Bart would drift off again, but the other part hoped that he was awake enough to eat.

"Bret?" Bart whispered.

Bret squeezed his brother's arm. "That's right."

Bart winced, sucking in a breath. "Does it ever end?" he asked.

Bret wasn't sure if his brother meant the pain or the dangerous situations that they always got themselves involved in. "Of course it does," Bret said, trying to make _himself_ believe it.

Bart sighed.

"Are you hungry, Bart?" Bret asked.

Bart shook his head.

Bret mentally scolded himself. He should've _told_ Bart that he was going to eat rather than ask. "Well you're eating anyway, and you have two choices."

"Of?" Bart asked, eyes still closed.

"Jerky and jerky."

Despite the pain, Bart chuckled. He winced again immediately after, reaching to hold onto his wounded arm.

"Can you sit up?" Bret asked him.

Frustrated from the pain, Bart replied, "Do I _look_ like I can?"

Bret understood how Bart felt, and didn't blame him at all for being testy. "No, but you can't eat while lying flat."

Bart sighed again. "Don't wanna move."

Bret understood that too. "You need to eat to gain back some strength."

"I don't think jerky is gonna help very much," Bart answered.

Bret couldn't argue with that either, but it was better than nothing. "You have to eat something and this is all we have," he said. "Now, come on." He slid an arm under his brother and pulled him up into a sitting position.

Bart couldn't stop a groan from passing his lips.

Bret carefully leaned him against the rock; grabbing a canteen and helping his brother drink some water.

Bart may not have been hungry, but he was definitely thirsty, and drank nearly half the canteen before he was satisfied. Afterwards, Bret handed him a piece of jerky, and Bart reluctantly ate it. "How long have we been here?" he eventually asked.

"A few hours," Bret told him. "How do you feel? Don't say 'fine', because I'll know it's a lie."

Bart closed his eyes with a sigh, reaching over to hold his injured arm again. "Not good."

Bret nodded sympathetically. To Bart, 'not good' really meant 'terrible'. "Try to sleep. I'll keep watch. "

Bart nodded and let Bret help him lie flat again. It took a while for Bart to fall asleep, and when he finally did, Bret was very relieved. He stayed beside his brother through the whole night, forcing himself to stay awake to protect Bart from harm. It got very chilly, and Bret eventually had to cover his brother with another blanket.

Bart woke up a couple of times, but never for very long, seeming half-asleep even when he was awake.

About an hour after dawn rose, Bret decided that they should leave. Bart had slept for about ten hours, and they couldn't wait any longer to get further away from Mundy. Bret could only hope that they'd still be able to outrun him.

Bart woke with a wince and a groan and obediently drank the water and ate the piece of jerky that Bret fed him, not saying much. Despite the sleep he'd gotten, he was still worn out and knew that resuming their flight would increase his pain.

It wasn't easy to get Bart on his horse, but they eventually succeeded and rode off, staying close to the mountain in case they had to hide in a hurry. The weather had been pleasantly warm for the last couple of days, but today was hotter, and Bret knew that there was a water hole nearby; he just wasn't sure how close they were to it.

Even though the heat wasn't extreme, it didn't agree with Bart, considering the physical stress that his body was already under. He kept his jacket off.

By the time noon came, Bret could see that Bart was desperate for water. He was sweating and breathing heavily. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked, as he handed over a canteen.

"Because I know we're running out," Bart asked, taking a drink.

Bret frowned at the little amount that he drank. "Keep going," he said.

Bart sighed and put the canteen down on his lap so he could raise his good arm to wipe his sleeve across his forehead. "There won't be much left for _you_."

"I don't care," said Bret. "You need it more."

Bart sighed, not surprised at his answer.

They kept going, with Bret making Bart keep the canteen, despite Bart's protests.

"You might as well drink it, because I'm not gonna," said Bret. He was thirsty, of course, but he wasn't the one currently suffering from a gunshot wound. "Besides, there's water close by."

Bart smiled slightly, hoping that it covered the wince that he was trying to hide. "How do you know for sure?"

"I can hear it," Bret joked, with a grin. "Can't you?"

Suddenly, they heard something else; a gunshot echoed through the air, and the bullet went right past Bart's face, making him gasp with surprise. Both Mavericks looked behind themselves for the threat, with Bret pulling out his gun. "Find somewhere to hide!" he shouted, spotting no one and looking up at the mountain instead.

With a smile, Mundy looked down at them, pointing his gun. Bret fired back, and Mundy ducked behind the rock.

Bart saw that there was nowhere for them to hide and he painfully swung down from his horse, awkwardly reaching around to grab his gun out of his holster with his left hand.

Bret dismounted too, but before he could do anything else, Mundy popped up again and fired his gun once more.

Bart gave a cry of shock and fell against the rock.

Mundy heard it and fired at Bret, just missing him. "Drop it or you die too!"

Bret nervously looked at his brother before dropping his gun. "What, you gonna come down here to see what you just did?" he exclaimed, with grief in his voice.

Mundy smiled again. "Of course. Hands in the air, Maverick, and back off."

"I won't leave him!" Bret exclaimed.

Mundy fired again and Bret jumped out of the way, landing on the ground where he sat, lowering his head.

Mundy climbed down and found Bart slumped against the side of the mountain, eyes closed. Before he had a chance to do anything, Bart suddenly came alive and shot him in the right arm, sending his gun flying. At the same time, Bret pounced on him and punched him in the face, knocking him out cold. He quickly tied Mundy's arms and legs before going back over to Bart, who was holding onto his right upper arm, the arm that already had the wounded shoulder.

"It's just a graze," Bart told him, wincing.

Bret sighed. "I can see that," he said, looking at the red stain on Bart's white shirt. "Why do you insist on leaving your blood everywhere we go, brother Bart? It belongs on the _inside_ , not the outside."

Bart gave a painful chuckle, glad at least that both injuries were in the same arm.

Bret quickly hog-tied the unconscious Mundy and bandaged his brother's new wound, not wanting him to lose more blood than he already had. He located Mundy's horse, gave Mundy's gun to Bart, and dragged their enemy twenty feet away so Bart would have plenty of time to react if Mundy woke and tried something...not that he could while hog-tied with enough rope for three people. Bret then went in search of water, and found it less than a quarter of a mile away, which is what he'd thought. He filled all of the canteens and went back to his brother, finding him still sitting where he'd left him, guns in his lap. He looked very pale, but insisted that he was fine.

Mundy had woken and was glaring at them. Bret and Bart completely ignored him.

Bret went through Mundy's saddlebags and found, to his delight, food, which he gave to his brother before taking any for himself. Some color came back into Bart's face after eating, and after staying put for a few hours so he could rest, they resumed their journey; no longer a flight for their lives, they were now headed towards the next town to turn Mundy in and check into a hotel.

Bret tied a handkerchief around the gunshot wound in Mundy's arm—even though he really didn't want to—and kept the gag on him as they rode off again with Mundy tied to the saddle.

Bart and Bret stayed mostly quiet as they rode, and they came to the next town only a few miles later. They rode straight to the sheriff's office and handed Mundy over, before going to the hotel.

Bart sighed with relief when they arrived, and allowed Bret to help him get down from the horse. His legs felt wobbly and he was a little lightheaded—not surprising after being shot twice in 3 days—and he had to lean on Bret as they headed up the stairs. Once he was lying down, he couldn't stop another sigh from passing his lips.

Bret unwrapped the new bandage and found that the bullet graze had nearly stopped bleeding. Now that there wasn't as much blood, he could also see that it was a little deeper than they'd thought. He wrapped it back up before saying, "I'll be right back, Bart, I wanna make sure the sheriff locks Mundy up even though he doesn't have our statement yet."

"Give it to 'im," Bart mumbled sleepily, eyes closed. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

"That's right, you're not, for at least a week," Bret answered, relieved to be _able_ to say that. "I'll be back," he repeated.

Bart didn't answer, asleep already.

Bret headed downstairs and told the desk clerk that he was sending the doctor to look at his brother and to let him into their room. After finding the doctor thankfully in, he sent him to the hotel and quickly headed for the sheriff's office. When he went inside and saw Mundy behind bars, he sighed with relief.

"Were you afraid that I wasn't gonna hold 'em?" the sheriff asked.

Bret shrugged. "The way life is, who ever knows _anything_ for sure?"

The sheriff couldn't argue that, and listened to the events that had lead to having Mundy now residing in his prison. "Your brother is a lucky man, Mr. Maverick," he said once Bret was done. "To have escaped with his life after being shot at by this fella."

Bret nodded. "Well, we can't _all_ be good shots," he said, deliberately looking at Mundy as he said it.

Mundy scowled. "Where's the doctor, sheriff?" he said. "I'm still bleedin' over here."

Bret answered him, as he stood. "He's better employed elsewhere, taking care of my brother, so don't expect to see him until after he's done... _if_ I remember to tell him that you're waitin' for him, that is." With that, he walked out the door.

The doctor _was_ still with Bart when Bret came back, and he watched as the doctor wrapped a bandage around the newly-stitched gash from the second bullet.

"I just can't win," Bart remarked.

"But you _did_ win, brother Bart," said Bret. "You're alive."

That was true. Bart smiled, before it turned into a wince when the doctor jostled his arm.

"Sorry 'bout that," the doctor said.

"So how is he, doc?" Bret asked.

"He'll be fine," the doctor answered. "As long as he takes better care of himself. I don't like the looks of that one," he said, gesturing to the wound in Bart's shoulder. "Riding and getting hit by hailstones when he should be in bed!" He went *tsk tsk*

Bart rolled his eyes, making Bret chuckle.

"It ain't funny!" said the doctor. "That's how too many of you young fellers get yerselves killed, you know!"

"I'll make sure he stays in bed, doc," said Bret.

Bart threw him a betrayed expression, changing it into a contrite one when the doctor looked at him. "I'll behave, doc, I promise." The puppy-look stayed until the doctor looked away from him again, and Bart shot an irked look at Bret.

Bret pretended that he didn't notice. He patiently waited while the doctor rebandaged Bart's shoulder, inwardly chuckling when the doctor made Bart lie flat and forced him to submit to a wet towel on his forehead.

"But I don't have a fever," Bart protested.

"Somethin' you're _lucky_ about," said the doctor, wagging his finger. "But that'll still make you feel better, you'll see. The cold will give you somethin' else besides the pain to focus on." He looked at Bret. "If he gets a _real_ fever, you call me right away." With that, he got his fee from Bret and left.

Bart shifted his position with a wince, before closing his eyes and sighing. He'd planned to rip the wet cloth off as soon as the doctor left, but as he lay there, he found that the doctor was right; it felt good.

Bret sat in a chair next to the bed. "How you feelin'?" he asked.

Bart's answer was immediate. "Relieved."

Bret nodded, not that Bart could see him with his eyes closed. "Yeah, me too." Something suddenly occurred to him. "Hey, Bart?"

"What?"

"That whole town thought that I was Doc Holliday and you were Wyatt Earp..."

Bart opened his eyes and looked at his brother as if he thought him insane. "I thought we already knew that?"

"What I was gonna say," said Bret. "Is what if people left town before finding out that we _aren't_ them and they spot us somewhere else someday? You think they'll still think we're Doc and Wyatt?"

Bart's expression changed to one of shock, and he closed his eyes and put a hand on his head. If that were true, then this was _not_ the end of their current problem. "Bret?" he said.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

THE END


End file.
